


The Reed is as the Oak

by Vampiric_Charms



Series: Burns Most of All [9]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-04 01:17:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6635146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vampiric_Charms/pseuds/Vampiric_Charms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things go terribly when Mairon makes a rather large error on a very significant project, and with no time to repair it.  The error, of course, is Melkor’s fault - though Mairon is (to all outward appearances) the only one who feels any sort of alarm when a solution does not immediately present itself.  </p><p>Set before Mairon’s fall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Reed is as the Oak

**Author's Note:**

> No special notes about this one, really. Rated for a specific instance that is Melkor’s doing, and set before Mairon’s corruption. (Barely, ha.)
> 
> Oh, and still taking requests if you have one!
> 
> Enjoy!

Mairon moved the engraving tool gently - ever so gently - over the smooth surface of the small silver bell nestled in the palm of his left hand. It was a tiny thing, a scaled version of the greater piece to be made later, once this one was finished and perfected in every possible way. Gold was to be inlaid in the engraving, yellow and rosy hues soon to be swirled together against bright polished silver, set with beautiful pearls gifted from Ulmo’s own hand for both this trial and the final masterpiece. 

The toll, when it rang in its high tower, would be magnificent to hear - though the sweet chime of this little one was so very pleasant as well. Perhaps, if Mairon did as he was tasked, finishing the smaller bell to the flawless standards he was held to, Aulë would allow him to keep it for his personal collection?

It was pleasing to imagine, even if unlikely. Every trial piece such as this was kept in Aulë’s own study, regardless of the craftsman whose hand created it.

Footsteps echoed through the hall, approaching the hearth nearest his table, and Mairon ignored them as he continued to focus on his delicate work. He had been alone for only a few minutes though Master Aulë was due to return any moment, having merely gone to fetch a few materials from the storeroom, and his return was no great surprise. He continued moving the sharp tool over the curving silver, his eyebrows coming together with the intensity of his concentration.

“What an exquisite piece of art.”

The rumbling voice - definitely not Master Aulë’s - pulled his attention up quickly, the tool loosening in his grasp. Melkor was standing very close beside him, having crept up while his attention was so focused elsewhere. His heart leap up into his throat and he took a sharp breath. 

“You should not be here!” he said, words hushed and alarmed. He looked over his shoulder as though Aulë would already be there, returned from his task, and was almost surprised to still be alone. “Master Aulë is likely on his way back as we speak, this is not a good time for one of your clandestine visits.”

“I merely wished to see how you were getting on,” Melkor replied easily, though he kept the doorway in his vision regardless.

“Just _fabulous_ , thank you. Now leave before we are both found and punished for - well, I am honestly not even sure _what_ we have been doing at this point - but I would not like to find out what reprimand I would face for it.”

“I am honored to discover you do not care a lick for the punishment facing _me_ , for seeking you out in the first place.” Melkor laughed, though Mairon was too anxious in that moment to return his usually contagious smile. “Do you _really_ desire me to leave?” he asked, tone low, and he took a step closer, fully invading Mairon’s space until he backed into the table. A bottle of solvent rattled at the contact as tools rolled against it. “For I will, if it is your wish.”

“Yes,” Mairon breathed, not entirely sure just then what he was agreeing to - and not exactly caring enough to think too much on the matter. “Yes, that is my wish.”

“How delightful.” 

Melkor reached forward and cupped Mairon’s face in his cool hands, stooping his upper body to run his nose along his hairline, fully exposed with a single intricate braid pulling every reddish strand back and away. So rarely had these encounters occurred, physical and enamoured and filled with so much power behind every single, purposeful touch - rarely, but _relished_ , and Mairon could count them on one hand if he dared to. 

Whether it could be attributed to a particular mood, overtaking the Vala’s temper and acting out in such curious ways, or if instead he found these distractions of Mairon’s time amusing - Mairon himself had never asked, and these moments came so fleetingly, so very quickly, and passed again just the same until the next one came on without warning. 

And yet, and _yet_ , he could not deny he enjoyed the touch far more than he ever imagined such a thing were possible. His soul felt filled to its capacity, alive with fire and thrumming with energy he knew was not his alone as time spun around them both, joyous and enraptured together.

Melkor bowed forward just a bit more, enough to let his lips brush against the front of Mairon’s ear. One of his hands fell from his face and ghosted down to push away the collar of his working tunic, giving way to bright, flushed skin. He tucked his fingers under the hem to gain more leverage, tugging the fabric away until the entire left side of Mairon’s neck down to his collar bone was exposed. Without pause, Melkor moved to press his parted lips there instead, trailing downward.

Mairon let out a gasp of surprise - which quickly turned to one of dismayed horror when the tool in his hand slipped out of the groove he had been engraving to scratch up across the smooth silver surface of the bell’s wide curve, exactly where it was not supposed to go. He jerked away from Melkor’s touch, eyes wide as he took in the immediate and irreversible damage to the delicate metal. 

“Oh - oh, no. No, no, _no_.” 

The scratch was deep and apparent, a jagged wound across the shining perfection he had been working so hard to create. It might be buffed down a bit - maybe patched - but a patch, a patch would have seams, sutures that was be visible - and no, that _would not work_ , it would never match the pristine surface already smoothed from countless days of effort in so short a time, not when this was due to be presented so very soon. And simply buffing - no, the mark would still be visible regardless of how hard it was pressed to the wheel, the gouge was scoured too deep. 

Aulë would ask questions, he would want to know _why_ , why Mairon let something like this happen, why he had allowed his faultless excellence to slip so far, why -

A strange, unfamiliar clench gripped at his throat until he felt as though he could not breathe, and his next breath of air came in a small hitch through barely parted lips. The little bell, the little _perfect_ bell that had been so beautiful just seconds ago, was completely, _utterly ruined_ in his hands and it was his own failing for allowing his mind to wander at all when he should never have permitted such a thing to happen. The engraving tool fell to the floor from panicked hands, the sound sharp and brittle to his ears as it clattered against the stone.

“Mairon.”

He looked up abruptly at the sound of his name interrupting his tumbling thoughts, spoken so softly between the hush of fires burning in the hearths and forges around him. Melkor was staring at him, face pulled with genuine concern, and his heart ached with a fierce pain from so many places.

“You should go,” Mairon said, voice pinched. His eyes were starting to burn in a wholly bizarre sensation he did not understand, and he blinked quickly, looking away. “I cannot - I need - I need to _think_ , I must be left in silence to fix this before Master Aulë returns. Go, _please_ go.” He paused, barely catching his faltering breath back before adding in an attempt to push the focus away from himself, “Do not be caught here on my behalf.”

“I am unconcerned about that,” Melkor replied, his tone just as gentle as it had been before. “Let me see this.” He reached slowly for the bell, but Mairon closed his fingers tightly around it, protective of this grievous error and quite unsure of any underlying motives. “Just for a moment,” he soothed. “I will do no more harm than I already have. I seek only to repair now.”

He placed his large hands over Mairon’s, very tenderly opening his fingers to expose the delicate work of silver. Mairon allowed him, watching closely, his throat still gripped by that foul clutching of emotion and making it far too difficult to speak. Melkor did not take the bell from his palm, instead only removing one hand and placing his own fingers over the other, so they were both touching the silver. He ran one finger over the gouge, lightly and with no impact - and then a second time, and allowed magic to follow in his wake. The silver awoke, sealing itself calmly over the tear, rearranging to appear as though it had never been disturbed.

When he withdrew, it may as well have never been mismarked at all.

Melkor took Mairon’s hands to wrap fully around the bell, and enveloped them with his own. “Do not fret a moment longer,” he murmured, bringing their clasped hands upward to press his lips to the knuckles of Mairon’s fingers. “Any damage has been repaired. Shall I apologize for my ill behavior?”

Mairon let out a wavering sigh of relief as the tightness at his throat finally eased itself, extracting his hands to study the bell before letting himself fully relax. It gleamed, cheerfully reflecting the flickering flames without a trace of error. He brushed his thumb over the space where the deep scratch had been, feeling only the smooth silver he had worked so hard to create. He swallowed and took in a breath, letting it out again slowly. Melkor’s fingers, now resting at his wrists, slid upward again to fold along the backs of his hands, comforting in their own way as the near fatal mistake melted away between them.

“Perhaps your apology has already been given,” he replied softly. “Thank you. I - ”

“Curumo has decided to join us, Mairon, I do hope you will not mind the interruption to your solitude.”

Aulë’s voice preceded his heavy footsteps, quickly approaching through the main hall leading to his forge. Mairon looked frantically over to the arched doorway and back again, Melkor’s hands still grasped over his.

“Go!” he urged, hushed as the footsteps grew ever closer. “The back hall, he won’t see you if you leave now.” Melkor took only a single step back, eyes lifting toward the archway as well, and Mairon pulled his hands away and used one - the other clasping the bell tightly - to push at his shoulder and turn him forcefully around. “Hurry! Whatever are you stalling for?”

Melkor finally started to pace toward the hall branching off from the back of the forge, taking a moment to peer over his shoulder before he left. “I do not appreciate leaving you in such a state,” he said quietly, only just heard over the crackling fires and popping coals as he stood across the large room. Mairon stared at him, surprised with his honesty. “I have never seen you so terribly upset, it _bothers_ me. Can you not join me away, at least for a few minutes, to find your bearings again?”

Mairon opened his mouth to respond, though not sure of the words he would like to say - most likely that he was quite all right now, thank you - but Melkor turned quickly and left into the dark hall, vanishing from view, just as Aulë entered at Mairon’s back.

“So, what say you to a bit more company while Curumo continues work on that necklace he began earlier?” Aulë asked, voice booming heartily as he crossed the forge to retrieve his largest hammer and survey the metals left on his anvil.

Mairon attempted to smile at the question despite his heart only just returning to a steady pace, keeping his gaze levelly on his hands as they continued to cup the repaired bell. “Yes, of course. A splendid idea, Master Aulë, his company would be lovely.”

“Mairon, child, are you all right?” Aulë turned to face him, concerned as he searched his face. “Your hands are trembling. Has something happened in my absence?” He came forward, taking the bell and placing it gently on the table so he was able to take Mairon’s hands into his own warm ones. “What is troubling you? You need only tell me what I might do to help.”

His fatherly touch was not at all like Melkor’s, from just minutes earlier, and Mairon looked up to meet his master’s kind eyes. In a surge of sudden awareness, he felt a steady wave of energy from the back hall, pulsing and flowing like an ocean’s powerful tide. Melkor was still _there_ ; he had not left at all, but was hidden in the far shadows beyond and separated by a maze of stone. How could Master Aulë not feel him as Mairon himself did, so forcefully in that moment?

“I apologize, Master Aulë,” Mairon demurred, realizing his question had yet gone unanswered and needed a response. “I am fine now. I must have suffered a stroke of heat, standing too near the hearth fire. It has passed.”

They both knew that was certainly not the truth - heat had never bothered him in that way, and the answer was a feeble one - but Aulë nodded, willing to let the matter pass. “If you are sure, lad.” He released Mairon’s hands to let them fall and gave him another slightly worried glance. “Do not push yourself too hard. Please, take as much rest as you require to care for yourself.”

“Thank you, Master Aulë.”

He retrieved the engraving tool from the floor, where it was still fallen beside his foot, and set back to his original work. The pulsing energy, from so far away now, remained. _Comforting_ as it sang so calmly and called to him from the gaping space of time. 

He felt as Melkor slowly began his departure, felt as he left the halls, felt the cord spread thin and diluted until, finally, it was no longer there.


End file.
